Dir.
Corneliu Porumboiu, 2006, Romania, 89 mins
Drama/World Cinema
Cast: Mircea Andreescu, Teodor Corban, Ion Sapdaru
Review by Michael Bartlett
Not so long ago, a leading DVD rental company
put out a bizarre plea to its customers. It had noticed that,
during an entire 12 months of business, no-one had taken out
a single Eastern European title, and so found itself desperately
begging its clientele to try the wares of countries who, in the
glory days of the ‘60s, had been at the forefront of cinematic
experiment. Fast forward to 2007 and the situation couldn’t
be more different, with Romania of all places leading the way.
One of its filmmakers took the Palme d’Or this year (Cristian
Mungiu for 4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days), his compatriot Christi
Puiu’s The
Death of Mr Lazarescu was the surprise triumph
of last year, and now Porumboiu’s adroit comedy lands on
our shores.
Now, it may be politically incorrect to say
so, but the reasons why Eastern European cinema generates little
enthusiasm are frankly obvious. What is our stereotypical view
of that part of the world? Grey buildings, grey people, dingy
cars and dingier apartments, and, of course, poverty – and
it’s an immutable law that poverty puts people off. The
Americans learned that early on and that’s partly why their
films are so popular. And Eastern European art seems inextricably
tied up with rather unattractive elements: the oppressive shadow
of Communism, bureaucracy, heavy political irony and that godawful
folk music that sets your teeth on edge.
12:08 East of Bucharest opens with
that music and then cuts to shots of grey estates where the street
lamps are fitfully struggling into life. Oh, dear. We move into
bare apartments and there is mention of the 1989 Revolution… (“How
long is this movie?”) But wait - a welcome streak of humour
starts to make itself evident and it becomes clear that the very
grimness of this opening is part of the director’s conception – precisely
that modern Romania does not look so very different from its
Communist past. There is an atmosphere of muddling through on
meagre resources, the owner of a TV station farcically mounting
a current affairs programme with only one cameraman and a wall-mounted
photo of the town square. And the implication therefore that
that very Revolution, which will become the subject of the film,
was in itself an illusion…
The format of the film is simple but neat. Two
veterans of the Revolution are invited to appear on a local TV
show on the anniversary of the event. But as soon as they start
airing their memories, the channel receives a barrage of telephone
calls from viewers who remember events slightly differently and
accuse the interviewees of lying. Porumboiu hits his stride here.
The first half of the film in which the characters are set up
treads water a little, but once the action moves inside the TV
studio, the director makes full use of his conceit. The restriction
to a static, TV-camera set-up actually creates a kind of comic
tension, as the characters are trapped in front of its gaze and
those of the carping pundits at home. It also allows this young
director to “examine” these protagonists of his country’s
history, putting them under the microscope to both revel in and
sympathise with their growing embarrassment.
Ultimately, the debate comes down to a ridiculously
hair-splitting line of enquiry: did people start massing in the
town square before or after the announcement of Ceausescu’s
fall? One answer and the Revolution is real, the other and it’s
a myth. The two interviewees are ridiculed as it becomes clear
their conception of time on the day was, shall we say, muddled.
But, at the same time, we sympathise with their dilemma as it
becomes clear that many of their attackers, particularly a slimy,
ex-Securitate official, clearly pine for the days of Communist
certainties. Porumboiu’s point is precisely that a Revolution
is not built on facts but on a state of mind. In a way, his film
links to John Ford – “When the legend becomes fact,
print the legend”. Even if that legend leads to the same
grey streets and big white lies of before…
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